Tridentine Latin Mass, Second Sunday in Lent, 24 February 2013, 1.00pm
Celebrant: Fr John McLaughlin (I think, judging from a fuzzy
photo on the website)
I always enjoyed Latin at school, and I’d never heard a
Latin mass so I thought it would be interesting to attend the Tridentine Latin
Mass still celebrated by the Society of St Pius X in defiance of the
liturgical revisions sanctioned by the Second Vatican Council.
Unfortunately, despite listening attentively throughout
today’s service, I still haven’t heard a Latin mass, because it was practically
inaudible. I’m not blaming the fidgeting children; they were a minor
distraction. But the priest rattled his way through the service in a kind of
mumbled whisper and with his back to the congregation, so that even though
booklets with parallel Latin and English translations were provided it was
impossible to find the place because I was straining to hear even a single word
I recognised.
When he turned round to face us and deliver his sermon in
English, he actually had a nice, clear speaking voice that was perfectly easy
to hear, but why he couldn’t have raised the volume even a little during the
Latin bits I don’t know.
His homily was
based on a gospel passage, Matthew 17:19, in which James, John and Peter
witness a vision of Jesus talking to Moses and Elias. Saints who see visions –
like Peter and like the children at Fatima, St Bernadette, St Philip Neri et al
– are so enraptured by these divine apparitions that they lose all sense of
time, of hunger, of pain, of earthly things in general. God’s infinite wisdom,
justice and perfection are more than the brains of created beings such as
ourselves can understand, so any vision granted to us is but a tiny piece of
what we’re aiming for – the fullness of God for all eternity.
And then he turned back to the altar to tinker with various
objects (chalice, purificator, paten, pall, veil, burse, corporal, ciborium,
all helpfully explained in the booklet), while the server knelt behind him and
acted as bridesmaid, holding up the hem of his chasuble every time he
genuflected, which was often. Of course, none of this could be seen very
clearly and next to nothing could be heard as he muttered his way through his
lines at breakneck speed.
And then he stopped muttering. The most solemn moment of the
mass had arrived. This was, according to the booklet, not just a re-enactment
of the divine sacrifice but Christ actually offering himself again in our
presence, described thus:
“The angels gather round in awe and reverence; the priest
prays the canon in silence, and all should be quiet and still, for the great
moment is fast approaching when our Lord Jesus Christ will come down upon the
Altar.”
Communion was offered to the congregants, there were closing
prayers including Hail Mary, which was the only part of the service during
which anyone else besides the priest and the server spoke, and then there was a
nasty little anti-Semitic hymn, O come
and mourn with me awhile, led by one confident female voice joined by a few
feeble followers, but the sound hardly did justice to the lungpower of 40-50
people.
I joined in with some hesitation, wondering as at previous
churches about the unplayed or unplayable organ whose pipes have become no more
than decoration, and when I looked up at the end of the hymn, the priest had
disappeared and the whole thing was over. It had taken less than 50 minutes.
Why conduct worship in a language the worshippers don’t
understand? Three possible reasons spring immediately to mind: a) because the
language itself is considered holy and God wishes us to use it when we
speak to him; b) because that’s what our ancestors did and we want to maintain
continuity with that tradition; and c) because the poetry of the language aids
meditation and opens our minds and hearts to experience the divine. There may
be others too, of course.
But what on earth is the point of turning up to watch the
back of an ornately dressed man muttering at an altar without even being able
to hear the cadences of his speech, let alone the words? This is a liturgy
that’s stood the test of time, and if SSPX members love it so much that they’d
risk excommunication for their adherence to it then I hope they can conclude
that it’s worth it, but what sits oddly with their stance is the
impression given – to this outsider, at least – that the actual content of the
liturgy isn't really all that important. Perhaps it is enough for the laity
simply to be in the presence of the priest as he performs the sacred ritual,
and to be invited to participate in the tail end of it, but if this is what all
Catholic churches were like before Vatican II then I can see why change was deemed necessary.
It’s a mystery all right, and probably one that my human
brain will never comprehend. I had expected ceremony and solemnity, and there
was some of that. I had expected Latin, and there was some of that too, though
listening to it was the auditory equivalent of watching a shadow play in a dark
room while wearing sunglasses.
Did Christ descend upon the Altar? Not that I noticed, but
since the whole business was a private transaction between the priest and an
unseen other, or others, it could well be that the gathering of angels and the
re-sacrificed saviour were indeed present, imperceptible to worldly sinners but
visible to the saints and mystics we’re enjoined to hold in reverence.
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